


fate's hand has some magic fingers (let's not mention the tongue)

by iriscale



Category: GOT7, K-pop
Genre: 0-100 real fast, Dirty Talk, M/M, Please heed my warnings, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Space Magic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8834092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriscale/pseuds/iriscale
Summary: Through fate's hand (and nearly being on the receiving end of a very sharp pointy metal stick), a mage finds himself working under the crown prince of the Guild's associated royal family -- and it seems like just yesterday he arrived planetside. Things sure move fast here.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taejijun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taejijun/gifts).



The mage’s long coat swished behind him as his heels clicked on the stone floor. With his staff tucked under his arm, the mage chants a spell under his breath--with a flash of silver eyes his footsteps silence and his slim figure disappears from human sight.

His target, an errant mercenary with too many enemies, is waiting around the corner and down the hall of the drafty castle he finds himself strutting down. 

He doesn’t usually do this kind of work; he’s above this low pay grade bounty hunter mission, but he’s got to prove his worth on the new planet his people have sent him to. And he’ll let it be known that the mage Kunpimook turns away from no challenge, no matter how petty.

He readies his dagger. With his spells he’s nearly undetectable; slitting the man’s throat will hardly take effort.

He nears the end of the corridor only to hear echoing shouts and the clang of sword against sword. Kunpimook slips through the cracked doorway quickly, hidden eyes growing wide at the scene before him.

The hideout has been trashed, the mercenary’s accomplices dead, and the single mercenary stands against a figure Kunpimook does not recognize.

“Surrender and I’ll let you go,” the mercenary calls out in what must be bravery or pure stupidity. Kunpimook sneaks closer to get a better look at the other man, who raises an eyebrow at the mercenary’s bravado.

“Confident for someone who’s about to meet his end on my blade,” the man says, brandishing a thin rapier Kunpimook notes is already blood-coated--presumably in the blood of the men lying around them.

He’s dressed simply enough, but he holds himself like a master swordsman, looking like he was born to wield his weapon. From all his time at court, Kunpimook recognizes a gentleman when he sees one.

The mercenary’s face pales in response, but he doesn’t hesitate to charge the gentleman, who neatly dodges, delivering a blow to his shoulder with the pommel of his rapier, knocking him to the ground. 

_ Like a mongoose with a snake _ , Kunpimook observes as the man toys with the merc.

After a minute or two of failed charges and blows, the gentleman seems to take mercy on the mercenary and jabs up through his chest, impaling him on his blade. 

He whispers something like a blessing to the dying man before letting him fall to the ground with the others.

Kunpimook thinks there’s something elegant about the way he flicks his wrist to clean his blade of the blood staining it.

He’s less charmed about the fact someone else has taken out his target. He swears under his breath. 

The other man, who had relaxed position, suddenly stiffens up, gaze sweeping the room. 

There’s no way he heard the mage--not with the dampening spell--but he seems to turn, pause and stare at the exact place Kunpimook is standing. 

The mage holds his breath. The swordsman holds his gaze unintentionally for a moment, before relaxing again and sheathing his rapier with a shake of his head. 

“I must be hungry… hearing things again,” he laughs to himself. He turns to look at the carnage he’s left, and Kunpimook breathes a sigh of relief.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to report this to the court, but he doesn’t count on spending any more time in the vicinity of such an extremely dangerous man.

_ While he’s distracted with the bodies,  _ Kunpimook thinks,  _ now’s my chance to sneak out-- _

But he backs into one of the tables lining the room, causing it to crash down in a chain reaction that has him dead center.

He barely has time to throw up a barrier field before the swordsman twirls toward him, rapier jabbing right for his chest. 

The force of the blow knocks both the man and Kunpimook back, knocking his sword from his grip and making him wince in pain.

His eyes gleam upon discovering the hidden mage, and in his apparent excitement, forgets his rapier in favor of delivering a powerful kick to the side of Kunpimook’s shields. 

The hiding spells waver and flicker away at such force, revealing the knocked back mage. Kunpimook refocuses his energy into his shields, brandishing staff in hand. The swordsman circles back and reclaims his rapier with a sharp twist of his wrist. 

“Sneaking up on a guy with magic is unsportsmanlike,” the man declares, eyeing Kunpimook’s now visible shields. 

“As are shields. Unfair,” he scowls, or really, with the way he’s jutting out his lower lip, pouts. Kunpimook is almost tempted to let his guard down. Almost.

“Mages are known for their magic, not their athletic ability,” he counters, stepping forward. His shields gleam menacingly. 

The man’s forehead shines with sweat, dark hair sticking to it, all the muscles of his body tense and toned. He’s shorter than Kunpimook but far more built, the bulge of his arms evident through his well-fitted overcoat and shirt. 

Kunpimook’s mouth goes dry.

_ Not now,  _ he scolds his wayward mind, just in time for him to raise his shields up against another blow. The sword’s doing far more damage than it should, especially against a mage of his skill. 

_ Must be enchanted _ , Kunpimook thinks grimly, letting down his shields enough to send a blast of force forward with his staff.

The man staggers, eyes bulging with a comic gasp. However, with his shields down, Kunpimook has no way of protecting himself other than his staff--and he’s defenseless when the swordsman rebounds quicker than possible. He can’t even get his staff up in time before it’s knocked from his grasp and the point of a rapier digs into his adam's apple. 

“Please don’t kill me--The guild would kick me out and I’d be dishonored by my colony and my mom would be so sad and--” he blurts out, hands raised beseechingly, hoping to whatever gods that he can sweet talk his way out of this one. The needle thin tip pokes a little harder. He swallows.

“Why were you spying on me?” the man questions, raising a thick eyebrow.

“I wasn’t spying--I’m not on their side!” Kunpimook replies indignantly.  “You killed  _ my  _ target!”

“Your target?” The man pauses. “You do look better groomed than your average mercenary. Though not as handsome as me.”

He says it like a fact, and while Kunpimook is inclined to agree, he’s feeling a little contrary with the way he’s being treated.

“I’ll have you know I’m a highly valued member of the Royal Guild for Gifted Mages,” he informs him, holding his head up a little higher, “On an important mission you have impeded with your--” he glances at the bodies--”intervention.”

The man’s expression changes from one of curiosity to one of smug amusement, a laugh tugging at his lips.

Kunpimook continues, unamused.

“When the guild finds out about this…” he starts, but the man interrupts him with a booming laugh.

“If they don’t kick you out for dying?” he laughs. Kunpimook’s jaw clicks shut. Clearly the man’s mad, from the way he wipes at his eyes with a hand like he truly finds the mage amusing.

“They’ll what? Arrest me? Dance around me in their cute little mages’ robes and put a curse on me?”

Kunpimook stares.

The man clicks his tongue and tucks his rapier into his belt.

“You have no idea who I am, do you? Man, I should tell Dad to get more paintings for the estate commissioned. Wouldn’t forget my charming face then, would ya?”

He sticks out a hand.

“His Royal Highness Crown Prince Ka-yee, but please--” he grabs a shell shocked Kunpimook’s hand and tugs him close--”I think we’re a little past the formalities. Call me Jackson.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

* * *

 

Despite his longer legs, Kunpimook struggles to match the crown prince’s stride and to understand his fast rambling.

“Wait--your highness--” “--Jackson, just Jackson--” “--You want me to what, exactly, Prince Jackson?”

Jackson sighs and stops.

“I wasn’t supposed to be there. No one at court is supposed to know about it--except apparently  _ you  _ do now--so you have to take credit for it. And keep quiet about it,” he adds, nodding.

“And why again, exactly, were you there?” Kunpimook asks. “Stealing my kill, might I add?”

Jackson clicks his tongue.

“You seem like you’re really hung up about that, huh? You’re worse than our knights,” Jackson scoffs, waving his hand dismissively as the estate comes into sight. “Does it really matter? The man’s dead. Your job is done.”

Kunpimook sighs. 

“I suppose.”

Jackson stops and claps him on the shoulder amicably.

“So glad to have your cooperation,” he beams. 

“What’s to stop me from blurting out your secret, though?” Kunpimook persists after a pause.

Instead of another disapproving noise, Jackson just smiles.

“Just wait until we get to the castle. I’ll have a special reward for you,” Jackson says. At Kunpimook’s skeptical look, he continues. 

“It’ll be something any mage would be honored to have, but you’ll have to wait to find out,” he grins.

Kunpimook still has his doubts, but his curiosity is peaked. 

 

Jackson drags Kunpimook all the way to the main court--he’s nervous because he’d only been there once before, on the day he arrived planetside and officially became part of the Guild. His robes don’t feel proper enough, his lilac hair too loud, but with Jackson’s hand on his back guiding him forward, he can’t really dwell too much on it.

Not even when Jackson pulls him over to the side of the court, readjusting the front of his robe for him.

“Hold on one second,” he says, and then carefully, so carefully leans forward to brush his hair off his forehead, lips parting in concentration as he fixes the strands just so. Kunpimook blinks owlishly, and for some reason it feels like there’s something caught in his throat.

From the moment he saw him he concluded Jackson was a dangerous man, but this was a different kind of dangerous. Powerful both physically and socially, this was someone completely out of his league, but Kunpimook did always like impossible odds. 

“There we go. Perfect,” Jackson says, and his smile sends Kunpimook’s stomach spinning.

Of course he has to have a perfect smile. What prince would be complete without a perfect smile to go with his rippling muscles and skill with weaponry? Kunpimook scolds himself for mentally tacking on the adjective charming--he shouldn’t find a man who almost killed him attractive, but his dick and his brain seem to be on different wavelengths this time.

“So what exactly is this thing you’ve promised me?” Kunpimook asks, clearing his throat as quietly as he can.

“Patience,” Jackson grins, taking him by the hand. He guides him to the main platform and one by one, the nobles notice their prince and gather to listen; Kunpimook has never felt more self-conscious.

Jackson lets go of Kunpimook’s hand to tap at an interface at the podium at the front of the platform, pulling up a speaker interface.

“Hello everyone,” he greets informally. “I would like you to meet my new personal mage, Kunpimook. I am electing him today; please treat him with all the respect a court mage deserves.”

He pushes Kunpimook forward; the mage nearly stumbles with how quick he is to bow. He hopes his cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel.

The nobles clap appreciably and Jackson waits a moment for them to disperse before taking Kunpimook back aside.

“What the hell was that?” the mage splutters.

The prince looks smug.

“Just bestowing the highest power I am capable of on you. Pretty cool, huh?” he smirks. Kunpimook can’t even keep himself from looking agast and Jackson’s expression grows more flustered instead.

“Dad’s been bothering me to get one, so two birds, one stone, right?”

Kunpimook closes his jaw, but does a warding gesture over his heart.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he says, but a smile teases at his lips. Jackson looks less worried, and elbows him gently. 

“I owe you, right? Least I can do.”

Kunpimook smiles wryly. 

“I guess all I can do is accept this offering,” he shrugs. “What mercenary?”

Jackson’s face splits in his grin, and he slings an arm around Kunpimook’s neck, dragging him down to his level.

“That’s the spirit, my man.”

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t think Jackson is very serious about his new position, (even if he’s getting an official ceremony and everything), but as a mage of honor and tradition, Kunpimook is obliged to place a few warding spells around him and sends a few feelers out around the castle; Jackson catches him drifting off during his first meal in the fortress, poking him gently.

“Whatchu thinking about?” Jackson asks, resting his head on a hand as he tugs at the corner of Kunpimook’s robe.

The mage bats his hand away absentmindedly, and concludes everything’s good before refocusing on the hand apparently waving in front of his face now.

“What?”

Jackson clenches his teeth and gives him a look.

“Pay attention to me,” he demands, and Kunpimook stills his hand.

“I am now, you greedy royal,” Kunpimook snorts, playfully wiggling his arm. Jackson pouts at him fully.

“I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to shake a prince’s arm,” he says. Kunpimook snorts ungracefully, and wiggles harder; Jackson grips his hand in retaliation, sitting up until he’s got Kunpimook’s hands pinned against his thighs.

“You can’t beat me at my own game,” he singsongs, and Kunpimook flushes but he laughs.

“And what game is that?” he asks.

Jackson releases him and leans back in his seat with a thoughtful look.

“Being a pest,” he winks. He doesn’t miss the way Kunpimook grips his own thighs a little too tightly; Kunpimook thinks there’s a peculiar gleam in his eyes.

He leans forward as if to speak, when he feels something malignant brush against a feeler; something headed straight for them.

“Time to move,” he blabbers, grabbing Jackson and throwing them both into an alcove.

The table where they were sitting moments previously explodes, wood flying everywhere.

Flaming splinters hit the walls of Kunpimook’s shield as he looks down at Jackson, his heart racing.

Jackson’s eyes are wide, but he stares at Kunpimook instead of behind him at the place of impact.

“How--how’d you know--”

“I made a few preparations, but I didn’t think anything was going to happen--” Kunpimook breathes, still shielding the prince bodily, almost entirely on top of him.

Jackson touches his jaw, and Kunpimook’s heart races faster for another reason.

“You--”

Other members of the court rush in then, and Jackson pulls his hand away from Kunpimook’s face, but his skin is still warm where he touched.

  
  


The rest of the court mages root out the originator of the explosion, but Kunpimook sticks close to Jackson, who looks at him a little differently now. A good different, he thinks, but rather intense, like the prince wants to devour him with his gaze.

He feels a little better about letting his hands linger when he brushes Jackson’s shoulder or hits his knee when he laughs; the prince doesn’t seem to mind in the least.

 

“Kunpimook… Don’t your people have chosen names too? What’s your chosen name?--Or is that rude for me to ask?” he asks, leaning forward in his seat.

Kunpimook shakes his head, feeling warmth settle in his cheeks.

“No, it’s alright. People here make fun of my chosen name though,” he says, but Jackson looks so expectant, so eager his hesitance disappears. “It’s Bambam,” he says softly.

Jackson grins and leans forward to take Kunpimook’s hand between his.

“Bambam… can I call you Bam? I like it,” he beams, his smile bright. Again Kunpimook sees that glimmer of something dark in his eyes too. He wonders if it’s reflecting off his own soul. The prince makes his heart clouded, his presence so close scattering his mind and making him dizzy with something he can identify but chooses not to, knowing the dangerous consequences of the pull his body’s begging to surrender to.

* * *

 

The officialization comes and goes, but the burning  _ thing  _ between them lingers.

 

Jackson’s grip is tight around his wrist, giving Bam little choice but to follow him. Not that Bam minds. He’s pulled to an empty guest room, just down the hall from the celebrations. Dim lights come on with a snap of Jackson’s fingers. From the floor the light casts strange shadows across the prince’s face.

“W-what’s this?” he asks, but he knows. He can feel Jackson’s gaze eating him up.

“You’ve always been a smartass. I shouldn’t be surprised you’re a tease too,” Jackson hisses, pulling Bam flush against him. 

With anyone else, their height difference might have been felt, but Bam feels small against Jackson’s sculpted chest, frail in comparison though he’s hardly a porcelain doll himself.

“We should get back to the hall,” Bam warns, but he can’t bring himself to meet Jackson’s gaze. He can feel his dark eyes burning through him.

“Look at you. You  _ know _ I just want to fucking devour you. You’d let me too, wouldn’t you, Bam?” he asks, cheek grazing against Bam’s as his breath ghosts against his ear.

“Jackson,” Bam starts, but he can’t bring himself to finish, not when Jackson’s hand is on his hip, making its way to the small of his back. His touch is like fire and Bam can’t resist the flames.

Why was he fighting this anyway?

He relaxes into the touch and Jackson responds by pulling him tighter to him, hands mapping out his body.

Bam lets a little moan escape from bitten lips as he slips his hands inside Jackson’s shirt letting himself feel his muscles, the built body hiding underneath his modest wear.

He should’ve known he was relinquishing his control to the elder as soon as he did so because muscular arms grasp his rear, pulling him tight as rough lips press to his neck, hot and wet as Jackson’s fingers massage the tender flesh. 

“Ugh… Jackson,” Bam groans, letting his head fall against the wall as they tumble back against it. Jackson seems of one mind: to let Bam know exactly what he wants. 

His skin burns where the elder touches it, like some kind of magic he’s never felt before.

Jackson suddenly pulls back, gesturing for Bam to stay where he is. 

He just stares with that predatory gaze again; Bam figures he makes quite the sight: lips bitten red, skin flushed and spit shiny, lace-up shirt half off his shoulder, and hair mussed from where Jackson’s fingers had twisted in it. He’s already gotten half hard from the prince’s ministrations, his cock straining against his tight mage’s breeches.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” he asks finally and Jackson smirks.

“I’m getting to it, darling. Just wanted to save a good mental picture of how good you look,” he grins. In one smooth move he tugs his shirt over his head, and in another tugs Bam forward by his waistband, backing up until he’s sitting on the bed and tugging the thin mage into his lap. 

Bam nearly makes a smart remark but Jackson is quicker, pressing their lips together and Bam moans into his mouth instead.

Jackson’s mouth is just as hot against his own as it is on his skin, utterly in control, but still the slightest like a wildfire, all consuming.

Jackson presses into his mouth as his hands wander up into his shirt, skin damp with sweat and spit under his fingers. Bam intertwines his hands with Jackson’s hair and pushes back, sucking in his bottom lip with an inelegant clash of teeth. He grins against Jackson’s mouth as he leaves it swollen, letting it fall from his own with a full pop. 

Jackson pulls Bam’s shirt over his head in retaliation, seizing him by the waist and pressing him down against the bed instead. 

Bam moans loudly as swollen lips lick and trace bruises down his tanned torso, fingers tightening in black locks of hair.

“You’re excited,” he laughs, but it becomes more of a strangled noise when Jackson’s lips wrap around one of his nipples teasingly. 

“And  _ you’re  _ sensitive,” Jackson rasps, laving his tongue over the other nub and making Bam arch against the bed.

“C-can’t help it,” he stutters out, nearly whimpering when Jackson cups him roughly and moves back to suck on his neck. 

“Neither can I,” he says against Bam’s skin.

He seems to have enough of teasing back because he lowers his hips against the mage’s. He grinds down with little precision, but it’s enough to make them both groan aloud. 

“Less fabric,” Bam hears himself begging. Jackson doesn’t seem to mind indulging, leaning down to undo Bam’s pants. He pauses, and Bam wonders what’s taking him when air hits his cock and he’s enveloped in blissful heat. Jackson rolls his tongue around Bam’s length and takes him in deeper.

“Ah, fuck--” Bam moans, fisting Jackson’s hair. The elder’s eyebrows narrow in a smirk before he focuses at the task at hand, throat bobbing as he lets his jaw fall open wider around Bam’s length, tongue sliding underneath. 

Bam starts to move, hardly fighting the urge to thrust up into that sweet warmth, but he quickly realizes he can’t, hips held in place firmly.

Jackson bobs his head once, twice, before sliding off, tongue dragging and catching on the ridge. Bam’s fully hard and dripping wet by now, but Jackson doesn’t seem to pay it any more attention.

“Bam, baby,” he says, hands sliding down the younger’s thighs and resting under his rear.

“Why’d you stop?” Bam asks, voice tight.

“Tell me, baby, when was the last time you showered?”

Bam looks confused.

“Before the ceremony earlier. Why--oh,”  Bam starts, but his voice cracks into a low moan. 

“ _ Oh. _ ”

Jackson’s hands had slid down to his ass and pulled him forward, so his hole was visible and his legs were spread wide.

Something wet and warm presses against his entrance, making the sensitive nerves tingle. 

Instinctively, Bam spreads his legs wider, shuddering at the feeling of Jackson holding him down as he plays with his hole, tongue starting to probe inside of him.

The stretch isn’t unfamiliar, but this is new. He’s never had someone’s mouth on him like this, though he’s never had someone look at him like Jackson before either. 

As he licks into him, Jackson follows his tongue with a finger, pressing against the inside of his walls.

Bam is a mess. Lilac hair lies damp against his forehead, a high pink flush coloring his cheeks darker. He can’t help the sigh of his breath as Jackson flicks his tongue inside him, nor the louder moans when saliva coats his walls. Part of him is embarrassed, by the act being performed on him or by his own reaction he doesn’t know, but he faintly thinks the texture of Jackson’s hair in his grip and the feeling of lips kissing and pressing against him will haunt his fantasies for a long time. The prince is definitely experienced, knowing exactly how to ply his tongue to push Bam to the edge.

Just when Bam thinks he’s been played with enough, Jackson sits up and pushes Bam against the bed, shedding what remains of his own clothing.

Bam hardly cares where Jackson’s mouth has been when red and swollen lips meet his in a moan. He seems just as breathless as Bam as he holds himself over the mage, dark eyes wild. There’s maybe an inch or two between their exposed cocks and Bam can’t help watching. Jackson looks just as worked up, thick with blood and tip pearling with precum.

“Like what you see?” Jackson purrs, pressing kisses along the younger’s jaw with every other word. “You seemed so greedy for something to fill you up--tongue wasn’t enough for you, babe?”

His voice falls to a whisper. Bam closes his eyes, overwhelmed, but he can feel Jackson’s eager grin against his skin. His shiver encourages Jackson to continue.

“You like that, huh? Want to hear how much you want me inside you for real, yeah?”

“F-fuck off,” Bam retorts, a stuttering moan breaking up his words as Jackson grinds down against him, gripping them both in his fist. Jackson pulls his next moan into his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip with a scrape of teeth almost sharp enough to bleed.

Bam can’t control his hands, one resting against Jackson’s pectoral, the other wrapping around the hand pumping their lengths, guiding him to go faster and making them both shudder when he smears precum across their tips. Framing Bam’s head with a slick bicep, Jackson’s other hand tightens in Bam’s hair, tugging with a sweet delicious pain.

Bam can feel just how long and thick Jackson really is in his grip.

“I wanna hear. Tell me. Tell me how you’re going to fuck me, Jackson,” he finally says, desperate to hear the dirty words spill from the other’s lips and have him make promises he’ll be quick to fulfill.

“Baby, you know I will,” he grins. He sits back for a second, throwing Bam off, but he only reaches over to the dresser and pulls out a string of condoms and a massive bottle of lube.

“Got this room prepared for you just in case,” he says, cocksure smirk breaking his face.

“You’re unbelievable,” Bam scoffs, but tugs him down into a hungry kiss anyway, embarrassingly ready to feel him inside him.

“Just wait ‘til you feel me,” he replies against Bam’s lips.

Jackson slides down the length of Bam’s body, pushing his knees up and pressing him against the headboard. He slicks his fingers up with the lube, and doesn’t hesitate to press two inside his already wet hole.

“You’re already pushing back so hard on me,” Jackson observes, thrusting his fingers inside deeper and making Bam quake and moan Jackson’s name.

“You just need something big and thick plugging you up, don’t you? I could give you three and four fingers and you’d still need more, wouldn’t you?” Jackson asks as he sucks bruises on the inside of Bam’s thighs, making him shake.

“Please just fuck me, Jackson,” Bam breathes shallowly, whining as another bruise blooms under his knee.

“Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me what you won’t be satisfied until you get. Tell me what you need fucking you open and ruining you for anyone else,” Jackson demands, a fiery light in his dark eyes.

“I need you--I need your cock, Jackson--please,” Bam sobs as Jackson pushes into him with another finger and finds that little bundle of nerves and presses against it insistently.

“I don’t want to come without you inside me,” he whines plaintively, reaching for a condom with trembling hands. Jackson helps him tear one open and slide it over his length.

“I’ll give you what you want, Bam, since you asked so nicely. Gonna fuck you til all you can say is my name and you can’t think of anything else,” Jackson says as he slicks up the outside of his dick.

He meets Bam’s eyes as he pushes inside, for once tantalizingly slow. The stretch is expected but it still burns, and Jackson is surprisingly tender now, almost as if to counteract it. He meets Bam’s lips gently with a slightly desperate edge that has Bam pressing back and rolling his hips up to meet Jackson’s hand as it cups him once more.

Jackson groans low in his throat at the tight squeeze, hardly remembering to actually stroke Bam until the mage cries out needily; he guides him to lie down completely on the bed, lifting his hips to make it easier to thrust into him.

“You look so good like this, Bam,” Jackson says, voice cracking. “I wish you could see just how perfect--”

He gasps as Bam clenches down on him, pumping him harder to make up for the fact he feels like he’s about to come. Bam’s hair only musses further against the sheets, cheeks shiny and pink with the gleam of sweat. Jackson leans down to kiss his stomach as he thrusts especially hard, right against Bam’s prostate.

Bam screams Jackson’s name as he’s assaulted by the intense sensation, moaning uncontrollably as he tears at the sheets with both hands.

“You gonna come soon for me? Wanna feel you tight around me,” Jackson says, babbling just a little.

Bam intakes a sharp breath and grinds back down on him, reaching for his hand, anything.

“Tell me to--tell me to come--” Bam begs, squeezing Jackson’s hand when it meets his and pulling himself up to kiss him breathlessly.

“Come, then,” Jackson breathes against his lips, grip tight around his dick.

Bam shudders as he’s pushed over the edge, dirtying his stomach and Jackson’s other hand with his release. Only a look is enough for Jackson to follow, his head dipping against Bam’s chest as he spills into the condom.

Both lie there for a moment, catching their breath before Bam has to squeeze Jackson’s hand.

“You’re heavy,” he says quietly, and Jackson pulls back, sitting up a little too quickly.

“J-just give me a second,” he replies, prying his hand away from Bam’s stomach. Bam winces when he brushes against his spent cock, far too sensitive.

He pulls out cautiously and walks to the attached washroom as he ties off the condom, and comes back with a fluffy towel.

“Here,” he says warmly, wiping Bam down. Too tired to move, Bam lets him, tugging him into the bed once he deems him clean enough.

“Cuddle with me,” he demands, and Jackson makes a complaining noise.

“We should probably get back…” he replies, and Bam only tugs him closer.

“They can wait,” he tells him, rolling on top of him to nuzzle at his neck.

Jackson pauses before wrapping his arms around Bam’s back.

“...I guess they can.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> written for a very lovely individual and finished sometime earlier this year~
> 
> (i am sorry to everyone else if plotful intro was misleading. this is just absolute trash)
> 
> (this was not really proofread or anything nor did i make a proper attempt at accurately translating thai naming traditions to this 'verse please do not ask. i also cannot believe i wrote AND finished a jackbam thing it's only because i love u, doll)


End file.
